


Those Who Reach Ahead

by ByJoveWhatASpend



Series: Beresaad [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Betrayal, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Friendship, Gen, Hannibal Lecter Being an Asshole, Lies, Mages (Dragon Age), Original Character(s), Protective Hannibal Lecter, Qunari, Qunari Culture and Customs, Secrets, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 19:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15613236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByJoveWhatASpend/pseuds/ByJoveWhatASpend
Summary: He calls himself Hannibal and he has no love for the south. The mages, frightened and lost, are a different matter.





	Those Who Reach Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Quick overview for those that dont know Dragon Age
> 
> The Qunari are those that follow the Qun, a religious philosophy, set of laws, legislative guide, and social architecture. The Qun defines the role of everyone and everything in their society. Their rules are notoriously inflexible, much like their people, and often misinterpreted by outsiders. The Qunari themselves are a great, horned, orc-like race who brought the religion 200 hundred years ago from regions unknown. They settled in Par Vollen and have been at war with Tevinter (a country with a slave-based economy run entirely by mages) ever since. 
> 
> Further to the south mages are seen as dangerous due to their risk of being possessed by demons in their sleep and are locked up under guard by The Templars for the rest of their lives. Bad or suspicious behavior put you at risk of possibly having your magic (and emotions) forcibly removed. Some mages say it is better to lose your magic than your head, but most aren't sure.
> 
> The Templars sort of the religious anti-mage police and warforce. They look to Tevinter as the reason you shouldn't let any mage be free and train their entire lives to be able to defeat even a trained mage in combat. Any mage who has not yet been caught be the Templars is called an Apostate and must constantly be on their guard.
> 
> None of these nations like one another one little bit, and tensions are worse due to a recent Blight (the name for the the time when hellbeasts come up from underground to lay siege on the surface world). They were defeated but the world is still not back to normal yet.

When Hannibal goes to meet Emily at the crossroads just east of Kirkwall, there are two more people beside her. They are defiant to hide their nerves and the smallest of them shrinks back at the size of his horns, eyes cast downward.

 

“Is there room for two more?” Emily asks, her lip quivering, her shoulders tight. She feels that she betrayed him by not asking first but knows too that it was right not to trust him with this. She may look young but a hard life has hardened her heart. What she is really asking is ‘Will you save them too?’

 

“There is more than enough room for friends.”

 

Bandits can see him from afar and so they are safe for their journey through the Free Marches, though the mages would hardly look like worthwhile pickings even on their own. The trip is long and the humans are not used to the walk. He carries them when necessary, easily shouldering their underfilled packs while he cradles them in his arms, and makes sure every campsite between towns has a sturdy and warm shelter through the mild winter. Even at a campfire they tell him that the food he prepares is some of the best they have eaten and it helps Levi and Jonn to warm to him, and he to them. 

 

It isn't until they are well into the Dales and the third bartender in as many villages has refused him entry that they begin to speak up in his defense. He doesn’t need it and kicking up any sort of fuss in their journey is ill advised, but when Jonn comes to sit in the cold with him, clutching two mugs of warm ale, the smile Hannibal gives him is real.

 

“They shouldn’t judge you on appearances.” he tells him, the wrinkles around his mouth giving him the look of a disgruntled mabari. “Sure you’re big, but you’re alright. Not all Qunari are-- you know-- like that.”

 

“I try.” Hannibal hides his grin in his drink but Jonn’s entire manner seems to loosen up afterwards, taking to the roads with renewed vigor. 

 

They stick to the edges of Antiva, where they can avoid the crime and hassle but still be protected by its border against Tevinter. The mages know without saying that this is for Hannibal’s own safety and they do not complain when the roads are harsher than they might have been or the smell of civilization curls across the mountain. Levi has spent a lifetime knowing that the magisters are free, and Hannibal is certain that is only Emily’s faith in him that keeps her from breaking off on her own to try her luck across the Hundred Pillars. If she asked to be left behind behind he would do so but when the mountains are no longer visible and he has secured them a ride with merchants across the Drylands towards Ayesleigh she is still with them, curling up to sleep amongst the many warm and fragrant sacks of dried grain.

 

They are deep within Rivain when they come across a corpse, huddled halfway into a shallow beneath a tree. The way the skin has sunken, blackened, and dried tells Hannibal that it must have frozen during harsher weather. The smell is not terrible but the weather has turned for the better and none of his charges request his coat.

 

Their eyes all linger on the staff leaning prettily against the tree trunk, clean and strong as though it has been waiting for its master to pick it up.

 

Emily opens her mouth once, again, a third time, before turning away. Jonn hunches his shoulders and stares at his feet. The hunger in Levi’s eyes is unmistakable. If Hannibal was not there they might have fought over it, but the situation is better likened to poor children staring longingly at an unguarded slice of pie in a baker's window then three apostates who ought to know better than to be tempted by power.

 

Hannibal is the one that takes the staff, rather than leaving it behind to be found by a templar. It is tall and sturdy and takes his weight well as a walking stick. There is no fighting over his choice and whatever the mages see in it, Hannibal himself can only feel the slightest warmth seeping into his palm from the old, carved wood. 

 

“Are all Qunari like you?” Emily asks him, shyly pressing crackling fingertips to the frost-damp firewood at their campsite, helping it to catch when his own flint proves incapable.

 

“Are all mages like you?” she doesn't answer but she smiles anyways. Her eyes are distant as she thinks of other mages she has known but she does not name them and Hannibal does not pry. In the night he sits vigil over them, listening to their quickening breathes as dreams tempt and tease them, as real in their minds as the ground beneath Hannibal's feet. Emily’s spirit is calmer than when he met her first and he thinks it may be his protection that makes her journeys through the fade more safe. Or maybe it’s just the distance from places where she had only known fear, struggle, and desperately kept secrets.

 

Kont-arr is the most populous place he has brought them during their journey but it is still only an hour from the guarded entrance to the water. His height cuts the crowds for him, humans and elves and dwarves all scurrying out of his way and his apostates pressed closely into his wake.

 

At harbor they are nervous, shrinking away from the crowds and looking at the Qunari manning the ship with fear and suspicion. The ship had known he was coming and had stayed in port an extra few days to wait for him, but he confirms with the captain that it was his letter they had received nonetheless. They are grateful to be away from the  _ Basra  _ and set sail within the hour of Hannibal’s boarding, working with admirable efficiency to reach Par Vollen as quickly and safely as possible.

 

Few of his people have it in them to be friendly to outsiders,  _ Viddathari  _ though they may be, but Hannibal reassures the mages that humans are often this way as well. When they are well away from land Emily finds her spirit, as well as the more friendly members of the crew who are willing to trade stories with her. Emily is the best at spinning them, her voice strong and her hands animated. The crew members who speak to her watch them fly through the air more than they watch her face, and even the more dour ones pretending not to listen in can not help but crack smiles. It is how Hannibal met her initially, following the energy in her voice across a crowd where she recited stories in exchange for coin. She called herself a bard but Hannibal could feel the earthy crackle of her magic, dancing unseen above her skin.

 

Levi is unable to find her sealegs and prefers to spend much of her time on deck, pressed between barrels with her gaze set to the sky. When Hannibal brings her water, cooled by the simple touch of Jonns fingers, she touches his wrist in thanks. Her eyes catch on the sharp edge of his teeth but she does not shy away, instead smiling back.

 

When they spot land, after the novelty of sea life has long worn off for them, his charges seem to buzz with nerves. Levi whispers to him, out of earshot of the crew, asking if  _ all  _ Qunari are as large as he is. Hannibal tells her that they are not, as some Qunari are dwarves. “No, I mean Real Qunari, like you”. 

 

Hannibal smiles and tells her that she will be a Real Qunari soon. “For now you are  _ Viddathari _ , a convert, but t hey will teach you and you will learn.  _  Asit tal-eb _ . We all have our place in the Qun. It is as it will be. You are one of us now, no more and no less.”

 

The mages stumble and sway when they set foot on the dock and Levi loses her week-long fight against her stomach, leaning over the water as she wretches. Emily rubs her back and Hannibal kneels to shield her from anyone she may believe to be watching. She bemoans that she has made an awful first impression in Par Vollen and does not brighten until he stops at a stall selling cocoa nibs. They have been roasted to take off the bitter edge and he knows from experience that there is little that could dampen a mood after your first taste of it. He gets enough for all of them and cautions that they eat slowly as they make their way through the well tended beast that is Par Vollen. 

 

Emily asks after the pyramids looming over the city like smooth, clean mountains and he tells her that they are ancient. Jonn asks about the Vitaar of the city guards and Hannibal describes to him the way it turns a fighters skin to stone. Levi lets a particularly stupid looking Qalaba lick melted cocoa from her fingers and Hannibal stops to pet its silly head and let Jonn tell him what he knows about Fereldan cows. He was born on a farm and apparently worked it with a passion until his family was forced to flee their lands. His memories of cows are murky but warm, and he joins Hannibal in petting the dumb thing who is happy for any attention, batting long lashes at them in a silent entreaty for more treats. 

 

Hannibal discourages Levi from giving it even one of her cocoa nibs, citing the unfriendly frown of the cattle minder who looks as though she would not appreciate spoiled milk. 

 

When they near their destination, a modestly sized stone building not far from the docks, he pauses to let them finish their snacks, closing his eyes to take in the smells of spices he has missed, the particular rind of the Par Vollen beaches and the sweat of its people. When they finish he gives them a cloth to wipe their hands before tucking it away and leading them to the entrance. Hannibal opens the door and lets them pass through first, watching the hairs stand up on the back of their necks as the wards settle on their skin. 

 

Levi shivers. “It's cold in here.”

 

“Runes to keep the heat out in the summer.” he tells her. 

 

The entrance is a narrow hallway and the mages walk ahead without prompting. Hannibal stays at the door until they pass into the next room, until the door closes behind them and he hears them shout in fear. They call for him, begging for help, Emily loudest of all,  but he does not answer back. 

 

Hannibal waits for three minutes exactly before following their path to the unlocked door. 

 

The mages are gone already, carried down to the tunnels beneath the town, away from anything they might set aflame and any innocent they might hurt. Their new  _ Arvaarads  _ have been waiting and will waste no time in teaching them to be good  _ Bas Saarebas _ . They will protect their minds from the demons waging wars inside them and bring them peace. Hannibal wishes them well, in a distant sort of way, but knows he is unlikely to ever see them again. 

 

He had sent the paperwork ahead long ago so there is only need to check in with his superior before leaving once again. 

 

“Is there anything we should know about them?”asks his superior, dour as a grave, serious and straight and dull in the way Hannibal often sees in the apostates whos spirits have been long broken by templars, demons, war and poverty. 

 

He knew the question would come but still he pauses, letting the lingering scent of cocoa fill his mind as he thought of them. Jonn would enjoy working in agriculture, Emily would take well to learning from books, and Levi had so rarely eaten sweets in her life that it would be easy to reward her for her successes. 

 

“Nothing.” Hannibal told him. They were  _ Kabethari _ , simple people, and they would find their purpose as  _ bas-saarebas _ and be happier for it. “Is there anything I should know?”

 

“Stay away from Kirkwall.” they tell him. He doesn’t need more than that.

 

He is on a ship south within the hour, his pack refilled with the unique northern spices he favoured and enough coin to ease his journey. In Dairsmuia he rests for a while with a nobleman who is always excited to see him on his travels. He trades a few meals with him for passage on a comfortable  barque  to Antiva, and from there along the coast to Wycome, Hercinia, and Ostwick. The hop across the Waking Sea to Denerim is more difficult to arrange, but with the south still rebuilding from the Blight there is no shortage of people in need of coin. In only a few weeks he has set his feet in the South, well rested, well fed, an unmissable beacon for Fereldan apostates with staff in hand.

  
  



End file.
